


Just Wanna Hold Your Hand

by matchamarimo



Series: Modern Gods [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gods, M/M, Minor Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Modern Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:28:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22471825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchamarimo/pseuds/matchamarimo
Summary: Kuroo is the God of Speed; an ever-present surge of energy, a crackling mass of strength and power, and loving the thrill of the chase.Tsukishima is the God of Slowness; he's languid and indifferent, smiles lazy and touches just a whisper-drag of intimacy, and lethargic with his wait.As a result, their cheeky dance around one another drives everyonecrazy.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei
Series: Modern Gods [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638580
Comments: 24
Kudos: 274





	Just Wanna Hold Your Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the music video for [Kyouran Hey Kids!! by the Oral Cigarettes!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C-o8pTi6vd8)
> 
> enjoy!

They met out West.

Kuroo can't say he remembers when, but he does remember _how_ , because it's not every day the God of Speed slows down.

The room was a glittery, glowing, glazed den of earthly sounds and movement. Mortals, demigods, and gods danced as one on the circular dance floor, drink sloshing in goblets and red solo cups, hands wandering and eyes gleaming.

Kuroo has never stopped moving. He juggled his drinks and laughed with other patrons, slid in between the churning bodies, lounged in the squashy seats by the bar, and was constantly touching, chatting, and joking. Bokuto had been there that night too, a solid presence by Kuroo's side the entire time. His voice carried over the music and mindless conversations in the entire room, mingling effortlessly as the God of Noise is wont to do. The two of them dominate the space they occupy, intentionally or not, but everyone always has a good time together anyway.

He was gambling with a minor god of something-or-the-other when it happened. The bet something silly; a race through the dance floor to the bar or whatever. And Kuroo laughed, entertained the ruffled god that had the guts to challenge the actual God of Speed, and made to leap across the room like he always did.

Except, he couldn’t.

His body, normally brimming with power that always responded to his beck and call, was weak and jellied. His legs gave out beneath him, his arms moved like molasses, and everything seemed to crawl to a halt. His breathing was loud in his ears, his joints creaked in his frozen position, and the soft fog that melted over his mind made him languid and easy.

Kuroo stumbled, stopped like a car that had run out of gas, and ignored Bokuto’s confused shouts at him. The lost bet was the last thing on his mind while he frantically scanned the patrons of the room. His gaze landed on all sorts of individuals—no, no, not them, not the one, not who he’s looking for—

He almost missed the figure clad in blue at the other end of the room.

_Beautiful_ , his lax brain supplies, even as his own magic worked over the hold of another’s. Admittedly, it’s not a powerful spell. Whoever did this meant to prod and tease him rather than hurt him.

And that’s what the gorgeous God in blue, with a half-moon’s halo glowing faintly around his head, was doing. _Teasing_ him.

Kuroo held his gaze and straightened. The spell over him broke and his heart rate sped up at once, the trapped energy thrumming like the roar of an engine in his veins. He wanted to fly over, crowd himself up in this unknown God’s space, and do anything, everything.

The God smirked at him and ran a long, pale finger down the delicate stem of his wine glass. He reclined easily in his armchair, eyes never leaving Kuroo’s even as a friend of his leaned over to whisper into his ear. His lips moved slowly, lazily, forming a provocative greeting that had Kuroo’s blood singing.

_Hello. What’s the hurry, Kuroo Tetsurou?_

* * *

Tsukishima Kei, the God of Slowness, is not an easy god to track down.

According to those lucky enough to get close to him, he rarely ventures out of his known haunts, preferring to take it easy in his territory rather than go out and posture with other deities. Kuroo finds that highly amusing, because that’s what he loves to do at any given time. He’s made a lot of friends that way, and only enemies if they disrespect him or his companions. But he’s a lover, not a fighter, as the mortal saying goes.

So he lets his curiosity lead him, and goes around asking about a beautiful god who slows everything down.

“Tsukishima!” Nishinoya crows, delighted, when Kuroo asks. “The lil’ bastard went out to play and didn’t tell his friends, did he! I’m gonna get him for that!” He doesn’t look upset though; if anything, the guardian deity looks positively tickled at the idea of Tsukishima wandering about and teasing other gods in secret.

“I take it he doesn’t go out often?” Kuroo asks.

“Hardly ever,” Nishinoya laughs. “And now he’s got the God of Speed himself a-knockin’ on his door, asking for an audience. Serves him right, ha ha!”

“Yuu,” Asahi admonishes gently. “Don’t shout at Kuroo.”

“Are you kidding? I spend most of my waking time with Bokuto. Feel free to go crazy.”

Nishinoya flashes a fanged grin at Kuroo and waggles his eyebrows. “Well then, what d’you want him for, handsome? I’d love to see his face when he realizes he’s got company, but I also know Tsukishima’s a little shit who loves to stir up trouble, so I can’t just let you go waltzing up to his front door without asking your intentions.”

Kuroo spreads his hands magnanimously and adopts the most charming smile he could muster without breaking character. “Why, after meeting him that one fateful night, I’m just _dying_ to make friends.”

Nishinoya throws back his head and laughs, tumbling backwards into a faintly exasperated Asahi, who cradles Nishinoya against his chest regardless.

“Friends! I love it! The God of Speed making friends with the God of Slowness! You’re a funny one, Kuroo. I’ll tell you what—”

Nishinoya conjures a thick, black feather with a fast flick of his wrist; Asahi takes it and hands it to Kuroo.

“—this will grant you an audience with one of Tsukishima’s companions. If you can pique his curiosity, he’ll tell you where to find him.”

“A scavenger hunt, then?” Kuroo says, but he pockets the feather all the same. “Can’t convince you to show me to his door?”

“Nah,” Nishinoya smirks. “I could, but Asahi won't. This is his territory, after all, and he’s a protective one.”

Asahi bows his head sheepishly, a nervous smile on his face, but Kuroo isn’t fooled. He can see beneath the gentle demeanour there’s a powerful, age-old kind of magic running across Asahi’s shoulders, as deep and terrifying as the mountains and rivers etched into the land itself, and knows even his Speed won’t break through it. He can see why Tsukishima chose to settle here, if it means there’s someone like Asahi protecting the land.

“Who do I find an audience with then?”

“The God of Serenity,” Asahi tells him. “Go east and ask for Akaashi.”

* * *

He finds Akaashi in mortal form at a quiet, tiny little café tucked away between two large buildings. It’s almost empty, save for a barista making coffee behind the counter and a few silent patrons scattered about the room. Soft piano plays throughout the room when Kuroo and Bokuto step inside, both Gods making colossal efforts to both slow down and stay quiet.

There’s something about the peaceful atmosphere that made the mere idea of breaking it a grave offense.

Akaashi turns and watches them as they walk up to his table, thumb pausing over the page in his book. Even as a human, he’s stunning; his hair is inky black and falls in soft waves around his face, and his eyes glow in some kind of blue-green-grey mixture behind a pair of glasses. Kuroo offers a sincere smile, and subtly elbows Bokuto to do the same, but Bokuto just wobbles and looks like he’s been clocked over the head with a mallet. He stares, open-mouthed at Akaashi, shockingly silent for the first time Kuroo could ever remember.

“Good afternoon,” Kuroo says, fishing the fluffy feather out from his pocket. He hands it to Akaashi, who turns it over in his palm without a change in expression. “Nishinoya told me I could speak to you about meeting the God of Slowness.”

“Mmm,” Akaashi hums. He sets the feather down and gestures to the empty seats in front of him. Kuroo quickly manhandles Bokuto down before the other could do something stupid, like yell or profess his undying love for the other God. “Yes, I remember you...Kuroo, was it?”

“That’s me,” Kuroo grins.

“And your friend?”

“This is Bokuto, the God of Noise and Good Spirits, maker of joyous occasions and festivities,” Kuroo says, struggling to remember all of Bokuto’s official titles, because his friend sure as hell isn’t coming up with any solid introductions himself. When Bokuto fails to even make a sound, he digs his elbow as hard as could into Bokuto’s side. The God chokes weakly and hurriedly bows in greeting.

“Hi,” he whispers, breathless. Kuroo wants to faceplant into the table.

The corner of Akaashi’s mouth turns up ever so slightly, and he finally closes his book.

“I figured you’d come asking about Kei,” he muses. “Never had anybody slow you down before, have you?”

“Never,” Kuroo replies honestly. “It was kind of humbling, if I do say so myself.”

That gets him a little laugh.

“Kei has never liked crowds,” Akaashi says, reaching out to take a sip of coffee. His fingers curl lightly over the ear of the teacup, and Kuroo swears he hears Bokuto whimper. “But there are occasions where he’s feeling particularly mischievous and ventures out to play his tricks. You caught his attention.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“It depends,” Akaashi says. “Can you handle a challenge?”

“Never turned away from one, especially one as beautiful and intriguing as him,” Kuroo smiles.

It is the right thing to say.

Akaashi drums his fingers on the cover of his book. “The summer season is almost upon us. I assume you’ve met Asahi if you’ve met Nishinoya, and since you’re in their favour, you’ll certainly be able to make your way through Miyagi territory and into the Sendai forests.” Bright eyes lock onto his for a moment. “Kei may be lethargic, but he doesn’t like being made to wait.”

“Then I’ll see you on the first night of summer, perhaps,” Kuroo says, standing.

“Perhaps,” Akaashi nods. “Good day, Kuroo. And it was nice to meet you, Bokuto.”

“Yeah,” Bokuto blurts out, voice ringing through the quiet room. The patrons wince simultaneously, but Akaashi just smiles his tiny, pretty smile before inclining his head in farewell. They stumble outside, where the noise and bustle of the city slams into them without warning. The soothing calmness of the café washes away in an instant, and Kuroo hadn’t even realized how relaxed he’d felt until they left.

“Heavens,” Bokuto breathes, glassy-eyed and slaw-jawed. “I’ve never seen anyone, human or godly, so _beautiful_ before.”

“Made a right fool of yourself too,” Kuroo jokes, and cackles madly as Bokuto punches him in the arm and leaps into a loud tirade of whining, pleading, and spluttering.

* * *

Sendai is pretty and rustic on a hot summer’s day, but at night, when the mortals fall into their slumber, the forests on the mountainside come to life.

The air is thick and heavy with spiritual energy when they stroll through the outskirts of the trees, and the further they venture in, the more potent and dense it gets. Kuroo licks his lips; he can practically taste the vigor and vitality around him, buzzing beneath his skin and at the base of his skull. The matsuri he’s wearing is woven from light threads and soft cotton, an offering he received centuries ago when he was but a young god. The summer breeze is comfortable against his skin as they walk, but Kuroo can still feel himself start to sweat.

Bokuto is practically shaking with barely-contained excitement.

“We should’ve made friends with the Miyagi gods ages ago,” he grins. His owl’s mask sits tilted on the side of his face; the stern bird’s pupils glinting in the light of the fire spirits that have cropped up amongst the trees. “They know how to _party_.”

“They’re old-fashioned, but hells, they are high-spirited,” Kuroo agrees. He hasn’t been to a countryside festival in a long time, not when he’s usually busy in the unending hustle of Tokyo’s metropolis, but he finds himself wishing he’d taken the time and travelled north a bit more too.

The trees eventually part to reveal a massive clearing, packed full of all sorts of gods, spirits, and even a few friendly monsters. Sake flows as freely as water, the smokey scent of fire and grilling meat hovers in the air, and the erratic whistles of woodwind instruments and the incessant thumping of percussion prompts everyone to gather in circles of energetic dancing. 

It’s captivating.

“Kuroo,” Bokuto says, touching his wrist. “Let’s go!”

They’re welcomed without prejudice; there are whispers and stares that follow them as they push their way into the crowd, but it’s only from the smaller gods and shyer spirits who hesitate to reach out to the bold, brash gods of the city landscape. They’d barely made their way in before a wiry fox god whirls around them, silver ears and fluffy silver tail twitching with amusement as he introduces himself.

“You must be the god Noya met,” he grins. “I am Sugawara. Come, drink with us!”

And never let it be said that Kuroo is a God who turns down a drink.

Nishinoya is present at the drinking circle. He looks more god-like tonight, with sharp black markings underneath his eyes and a wreath of black feathers around his neck. He’s a teeming ball of energy and causing a ruckus along with his friend Tanaka—a bona fide dragon god that resides in the mountains. Asahi sits with a gorgeous raven goddess and an enormous bear god that the fox god immediately curls up against once they'd sat down. There’s three younger gods sipping drinks together too; a sun-bright god, a rather frightening god with midnight-blue eyes, and a god who magically produces two beautiful clay dishes for Kuroo and Bokuto when they arrive. There’s a knowing smile on his face.

“Have we met?” Kuroo asks, tipping his head in thanks when the god deigns to pour him a drink.

“No,” he laughs. “But I’ve heard far too much about you from Kei. I am Yamaguchi, God of Pottery and Textiles, maker of the everyday necessities that you hold.”

“Well met. I suppose my reputation precedes me, if Tsukki’s talked about me,” Kuroo laughs. “Where is he? Fashionably late to the festivities?”

All at once, everything around him seems to slide to a halt, and Kuroo’s next breath catches in his throat. The fire and dancing and gods blur around him for a moment, all suddenly moving at a snail’s pace. The sake dish nearly tips in his hand, his grasp weak, but it’s stopped by long, pale fingers that reach into his field of vision and steadies him.

“I just prefer to take my time,” Tsukishima says, right by Kuroo’s ear, and then everything speeds up once more. It felt like watching a video tape pick back up.

He turns to see Tsukishima lower himself onto the mats on his left. A light choking sound on his right is probably Bokuto losing his mind over Akaashi sitting gracefully beside him.

It’s the first time he’s ever heard Tsukishima speak; his voice is as soft and unhurried as Kuroo had dreamed it would be.

“Cheeky, aren’t you?” he chuckles.

Tsukishima snorts. He shakes back the sleeves of a sky blue yukata as he accepts a dish from Yamaguchi; the colour is vivid and bright amidst the traditionally darker male styles. “I’ve been told it’s one of my—ah—more charming qualities. Most observers say it in jest though.”

“You cost me a bet at our last meeting,” Kuroo says.

“You’re a powerful God. My spell wasn’t even that strong. You would’ve beaten him if you were more aware of your surroundings,” Tsukishima replies, dismissing his accusation easily. Kuroo grins; Tsukishima’s a mouthy one, and it delights him more than he’d like to admit.

Two could play this game.

“Yamaguchi, my friend,” he says, holding out his dish. “If you’d be so kind.”

Yamaguchi poured him another, and the tilt of his smile seems to say _liquor won’t save you now_.

Kuroo tilts his head back, swallows his drink in a gulp, and lets the warmth of alcohol take over.

All around him, the laughter, lights, and scents bubble together into one, and the familiar feeling of movement and liveliness tickles beneath his skin.

“Tsukki,” Kuroo purrs, and waits for Tsukishima to finish his drink before continuing. “Come dance with me.”

“ ‘Tsukki’? You’re ridiculous,” Tsukishima says. “Also, I just sat down—”

“Come _on_ ,” Kuroo laughs, and grasps Tsukishima’s wrists before the other could complain any more. He tugs them into the crowds, letting the churn of bodies lead them further into the party. Tsukishima grimaces as shoulders bump against his and he opens his mouth to speak, but Kuroo beats him to it. He presses a finger against Tsukishima’s lips, watching the other go silent in surprise, and takes the opportunity to draw the God close. He slides an arm around Tsukishima’s waist and delights in the blush that crawls up Tsukishima’s neck and into his cheeks.

“Live a little! We’re just dancing.”

“You—you—” Tsukishima growls, but he reaches out to grasp at Kuroo’s shoulders all the same. And so, they dance.

Kuroo leads, and he can tell that his Speed is washing over the others too. Those whose strengths lie in the particularly _active_ are sweating, panting, moving in a powerful frenzy. Those whose movements are usually measured and controlled seem all out of sorts, their faces wild as they fight to keep up. Tsukishima’s breathing is heavy against Kuroo’s neck and his grip is fierce, but he’s no pushover. He might be struggling to keep things at his tempo, but he never lets Kuroo get too far ahead of himself.

“You crazy Tokyo Gods,” Tsukishima pants, leaning back ever so slightly to glower at Kuroo. A fine sheen of sweat is making his normally fluffy blond hair stick to his temple. Kuroo wants to run his fingers through it, and see Tsukishima’s expression when he does. “Can’t slow down for a second in your life, can you?”

“Why would I do that?” Kuroo grins. His hands grip Tsukishima’s hips; Tsukishima leans heavily against him and Kuroo feels the familiar weight of the God’s powers battling his own. “Going fast is so fun. Look, even your friend is having a good time.”

Tsukishima turns, surprised, and a sliver of space amongst the dancing gods shows Bokuto and Akaashi together. Bokuto’s face is flushed red, and the noise of the dance alone seems to elevate each time he moves. He’s got Akaashi wrapped up in his arms, one hand buried in Akaashi’s dark hair and the other spanning easily across his lower back. They move as one, pressed close together. Akaashi’s head tips back; his eyes flutter shut, dark lashes fanning across his cheek, and Bokuto says something they couldn’t hear before he leans in and kisses down the length of Akaashi’s neck.

“Heaven almighty,” Tsukishima sighs, but he doesn’t look mad. “I knew you two would be trouble, especially after Keiji found Bokuto’s star-struckness ‘endearing’.”

Kuroo bursts out laughing. “ _Endearing_. Ah, as long as he’s ready to put up with the God of Noise, there really won’t be any problems. Bokuto’s really just a big, cuddly bear.”

“Akaashi can handle himself,” Tsukishima hums. He squeezes the back of Kuroo’s neck. Lethargy slides down his back, anchoring his limbs, and it takes Kuroo a good chunk of effort to turn the tide again.

“That could be us,” Kuroo breathes, lifting a hand to cup Tsukishima’s cheek. The god’s eyes flash, but his face remains carefully impassive. Hells, Akaashi wasn’t lying; he _is_ a challenge, and Kuroo loves it.

“You’re a fool if you think you’d get me that easy,” Tsukishima smirks.

“Oh? You sound like you’ve got something up your sleeve,” Kuroo dares to say, and that’s the last thing he manages before everything comes bearing down on him, dragging his arms and legs to the earth. It felt like gravity had increased tenfold in the clearing, and the noise level wavers before everyone is falling, falling, falling.

“Ah, damn it,” Kuroo gasps, blinking. Even his eyelids feel heavy, and he can’t help but sink to the ground. Tsukishima’s arms are around him in an instant, warm and firm, and he takes Kuroo’s weight easily before lowering him in a surprisingly gentle fashion.

“Like I said,” Tsukishima whispers, looking unnaturally energetic and alive amongst the rapidly-slowing mass around them. The halo above his head glows. “You won’t get me that easy.”

Kuroo groans, pushing through a thicker, heavier fog in his mind. It’s so easy to just relax, to lay down, and just rest, but the part of him that’s not wanting to make himself comfy on the forest floor is jumping eagerly at the chance to battle it out with Tsukishima.

“You’re not half bad, you know,” Tsukishima laughs. He pushes Kuroo’s bangs from his face and settles comfortably alongside him.

“You drive me crazy,” Kuroo murmurs, straining to sit up and lean into Tsukishima’s space. His muscles contract and go limp in a flurry of fast-slow-fast-slow. It’s a weird and unfamiliar feeling, and it frustrates him that he can’t seem to get a hold of himself. “How...do you...do it...Tsukki?”

Heavens, even his words are slurred.

Tsukishima smiles at him, tired but triumphant, clearly enjoying Kuroo’s lethargy. He shrugs a shoulder and bends over, gently nudging the tip of his nose against Kuroo’s jaw. His lips brush faintly against the shell of Kuroo’s ear, and Kuroo can feel himself flushing hot. He swallows, throat tight.

“I’ve lived my whole existence with others wanting to push me along and make me go faster. I’m used to ignoring the rush.”

Fingertips trail down his sternum, drifting across skin revealed by the gap in his matsuri, and oh, it burns in the most wondrous way. Kuroo lifts his own hand with supreme effort and grasps Tsukishima’s tightly, marvelling at the amount of energy it takes to make one simple motion. Tsukishima flexes his fingers and squeezes back for a fraction of a second. A soft laugh puffs over his ear.

“I doubt you’ve really had anybody tell you to slow down, though.”

Kuroo splutters, a wobbly grin spreading wide on his face. He lets Tsukishima press a light kiss to his cheek before straightening and gliding away; the hand slips from his grasp, even though he’d like nothing more than to hold on tight.

* * *

Tsukishima is nowhere to be found the next morning, but the large bear god does pass along a message from him.

"Kei will be here tomorrow night too, if you're still interested in meeting him. He tends to stay in Sendai during the summer," Sawamura says. All around them, everyone is slowly rising at dawn, tired but sated, and those who don't live in the forest are quietly heading out for the day. "Something about the summer heat and laziness works well for him."

"I'll bet," Kuroo mumbles. He felt dazed, and there’s a soft fuzziness around his ears, but it's a comfortable feeling. Sawamura laughs.

"He doesn't make friends easily, but I'm glad to see you dance with him," the god smirks. "You two made a right mess of everybody last night with your magic and flirtations."

"There'll be more where that came from," Kuroo promises. The sun peeks over the top of the trees, bright and warm.

"I don't doubt it," Sawamura says. "See you around, Kuroo."

* * *

Tsukishima only looks mildly surprised when Kuroo drops into the drinking circle by his side again the next night.

"You're back," he hums, and can't quite keep the pleased note out of his voice.

"Can't get rid of me that easily," Kuroo grins, and revels in the glint of light in Tsukishima's eyes. Oh, he wants to drown in those beautiful golden orbs and worship that perfect half-moon gleaming behind his head. The fact that he can feel his mind already mellowing out is enough to make Kuroo's heart go haywire.

All around them, gods and spirits alike speed up and slow down at the same time.

* * *

As the day of Midsummer approaches, the spiritual energy around them slowly begins to peak, just as it always does at certain points of the year. Kuroo's always felt a passionate, fervent version of it in the city, but out in the countryside, it’s a little different. The feeling is low, boiling, and heats him to his very core.

That, and the fact that a Surge has also been foreseen.

"You're sure about it?"

"Of course I am," Kenma huffs, his voice metallic and tinny over the ancient phone. Kuroo's not quite sure how the Seer managed to get ahold of Akaashi's home phone number, or figure out where they were currently staying at, but he knows better than to question it. "I met up with a group of Seers right after it was predicted it. The one who foresaw is from Miyagi, actually."

"Really? Who?" Kuroo asks, curious.

"Tendo Satori. Apparently his vision was so strong it knocked him out. Ushijima is refusing visitors for him right now."

Kuroo whistles. Tendo is an infamous name around the Miyagi parts; half-human and half-yokai, he'd managed to retain the Sight even though the gift rarely ever manages to manifest in any being other than human. His notoriety only increased after he'd caught the attention of the white eagle gods, and is now in the care of their stoic leader.

"Are you coming back to Tokyo?" Kenma asks, interrupting Kuroo's train of thought. He contemplates it; the Surge is a rare, near-violent burst of spiritual energy that occurs mid-season, usually manifesting in a giant storm. It's overwhelming enough that it sends most minor gods, demigods, deities and monsters into hiding for a while, but Kuroo's older, stronger. Not only can he can weather it out, it's also a great opportunity for absorbing raw, natural power for himself.

"Probably not. I planned on staying in Miyagi for the summer, so I might as well hang around till fall."

"Hmm," Kenma hums. "If you're sure. You know it's more dangerous when you're in an unfamiliar area while it happens, right?"

"Why, Kenma, don't tell me you're worried for me?" Kuroo asks, delighted. Kenma's responding _tch_ is tinted with exasperation.

"Hardly. If you get blown to bits, who will swindle takoyaki for me at the food stalls after my lectures?"

"Kenma! I do not _swindle_."

"Keep telling yourself that. Is Bokuto with you still?"

"He is, but he's—ah—usually occupied as of late."

Kenma grumbles. "With that serenity God, I know. He keeps cropping up in my dreams to ask for 'wooing advice'. Can you tell him to knock it off? I have four midterms this week and I'm already short on sleep as it is. He's loud, even in my dreams."

"What the—yeah, sure, okay, bastard doesn't come to _me_ for help, but goes to you, okay, it's fine, totally not an issue."

"As if. You're getting your ass trounced by that God of Slowness, don’t be surprised by the lack of faith in your flirtations. Hurry up and bone already and stop messing with the nature of things. It's probably you two horny heathens that's jump-starting the Surge."

"B-b—what! That's vulgar! Who taught you to talk like that?!"

" _Bone_ ," Kenma says, wicked, and Kuroo nearly wails. "Okay, shut up, I'm hanging up now, I have better things to do."

"Wait! Kenma! _Who taught you_ —"

Dial tone, and Kuroo is left distressed at the fact that someone is teaching his friend (who he's known since Kenma was barely an infant) terrible, terrible words.

Bokuto and Akaashi are sitting together on the large wicker couch in the living room when Kuroo slinks in. The traditional cottage is small, but it's full of Akaashi's calmness and articulate touches. There are plants all over the rooms, delicate glass ornaments hanging from the ceiling, and a faint scent of rainwater everywhere they go. He relays the news of the Surge to them.

"I thought that might occur this year," Akaashi muses, sipping lightly from a tall glass of chilled tea. “The atmosphere has been a little more charged in these parts.”

He sits in the space between Bokuto's legs, his over-large shirt hanging low, collar slipping off the side to reveal a naked shoulder. Bokuto is tracing the skin with reverent fingers and peppering it with kisses; it's a gentle attentiveness Kuroo has never seen from his friend before. Well, at least someone's getting some action.

"What's the Sendai scene like?" Kuroo asks. "We're a rowdy lot in Tokyo, but I want to know how you guys welcome the storm."

Akaashi's smile is sharp, eyes glittering with mirth.

"Why don't you two come and find out?"

* * *

The night of the Surge is a strange one.

Kuroo had been shifty all day, listless and impatient, wandering around Akaashi's property and through the woods without any particular destination in mind. His skin prickles and the heat of the summer's day felt thicker than usual.

Now it's night, but the heat hasn't lifted, and the air practically crackles with untethered energy. Mortals are steadily moving indoors as the summer storm approaches, and the magical beings that are too young or weak to withstand the massive energy spike have gone underground, burrowing deep into the safety of the earth.

But Kuroo is here, out in the open with his companions and other gods, anticipating the upcoming Surge with bated breath. He smells ozone in the air, tastes electricity on his tongue, and practically vibrates with the intensity of it all.

Cool hands settle on the broad expanse of his back and slide up, feather-light but still managing to leave a burning trail in its wake.

"Facing it head-on here with us, are you?" Tsukishima asks, voice soft in spite of the mounting energy. Kuroo nods, neck joints creaking.

"Wanna see how you Miyagi gods party it up in the storm."

Tsukishima laughs, the sound sharp. "You're in for a treat then."

"I can't wait to see you in it, _my Lord_ ," Kuroo replies, purposefully pitching his voice deep, and feels Tsukishima pause before he spins Kuroo around. Hands seize his face; he barely catches a glimpse of Tsukishima’s intense expression before their lips meet, and the first flash of lightning blazes across the sky seconds before the mountainside rocks with a clap of thunder.

Things mesh together in a dazzling, electrifying mess after that. All the gods that have gathered here rise as one, and the shrieks and whoops and hollers echo around the forest. Magic pours out without restraint, spilling over the earth, and they all unleash themselves.

Kuroo hasn't donned his true form for a long time, preferring to stay in a human appearance for convenience's sake, but he can feel the energy from the Surge forcing his form upwards, crackling through his skin and out in the open as he throws his arms around Tsukishima.

Tsukishima kisses hard, his movements sensual and heady, and Kuroo groans at the sensations. He pushes his tongue into Tsukishima’s mouth, and feels the markings returning on his face, neck, shoulders and arms. They’re bright red and inky black, with thick streaks tapering off like brushstrokes at the ends. His horns grow from behind his ears, strong and dark and twisting upwards. When Tsukishima drags his fingernails against them, Kuroo nearly bucks him off in surprise before he moans at the bone-tingling feeling.

He tugs at the fabric of Tsukishima's beautiful blue robes, dragging him impossibly close. They collapse into the crowd, pushing through all the gods basking and shaking in various states of transformation as the Surge rages overhead. The halo around Tsukishima's head glows like a beacon in the midst of the storm, and Kuroo can't stop touching him. He kisses and pulls at Tsukishima's hair and bites along the streaks of bright gold that gleam across pale shoulders. Tsukishima gasps and growls and writhes against him. Their tongues have fallen back into the Old Speech, the sounds jumbled and coarse but undeniably ancient. Funnily enough, they've both got regional accents now.

_Mine_ , Kuroo whispers, willing his words to sink into Tsukishima's skin. _Mine, mine, mine_.

Another crack of thunder, and two colossal gods rise from the forest.

He barely recognizes the first one as Asahi; in god form he's an enormous, frightening display of an existence. The mountains on his back shift, and boulders come crashing down into the forest. An excited shriek that sounds like Nishinoya's clashes with a thunderclap. Further away, the River God Oikawa surfaces too, as torrential as the rain itself, his eyes glowing blue and face tilted up to the sky. The gods dancing by his feet scream and shiver in respect.

_Magnificent_ , Kuroo breathes. He turns to Tsukishima, awed, feeling the power absorbing deep into his form like nothing he'd ever felt before. Tsukishima grins, fangs bared, and he grinds down hard against Kuroo.

_I know_ , he says. _Aren't you glad you came?_

The wind howls, the clouds roll, and the power that encases them all seem to sing.

_I am_ , Kuroo replies, and finally, finally gets to push the robe off Tsukishima. It falls to the earth, pooling around their bare feet. In turn, Tsukishima tears at his robes until there’s nothing but skin and excess energy between them, unashamedly running his palms up Kuroo's muscular arms and broad shoulders. Exposed as he is to the Surge and the storm, Kuroo has never felt so free.

_I am so glad I met you._

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He wakes to the tinkle of the wind chimes hanging outside the windows and the soft rays of the mid-morning sun beaming down on him. The pillows are soft beneath his cheek, the sheets cool to the touch, and the ever-present scent of rainwater tells him they'd all managed to make it back to Akaashi's home post-Surge. How long they'd spent outside in the rain crushed together, acting on pure desire and desperate touches and simmering want, he doesn't know. But Kuroo can feel two wonderful things right now: a new power brimming in his core, and Tsukishima sleeping soundly by his side.

His halo glows brighter than it had ever before, visible even in the daylight. Deep bite marks line his neck and shoulders, where his gold markings are now edged with glittering crimson and black as well. Kuroo turns, shifting quietly so he could curl around his godly lover without waking him. He sneaks an arm over Tsukishima's waist, and marvels at the hints of dark gold coursing down his own arms, a beautiful indication of their joined souls.

Tsukishima sighs, relaxing in Kuroo's hold, and a moment later he feels a hand sliding lightly into his own, winding their fingers comfortably together.

From an outsider’s point of view, it’s almost comical; the Gods of Speed and Slowness, dancing around each other as they fell deeper for each other.

He daresay it'll be the craziest story to tell for the rest of time.

**Author's Note:**

> The music from their first summer dance is from the [Natsume Yuujinchou OST](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8t6wAHFMxzU). It's funky :-)
> 
> This was just a lil something I'd been daydreaming about for a while, and finally got the time to put pen to paper lol.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
